Cycle
by Croc'Sushi
Summary: Draw a cycle, that's not the earth. That is France and England. My take on Franco-English sentiments towards one another.
1. Green-eyed Jealousy

**A/N: English is not my native language, as you will see by reading this. If tense problems and a little lack of vocabulary and weird phrasing doesn't scare you, please enjoy this 2 parts' story. My take on Franco-English sentiments towards one another.  
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_**1 - Green-eyed jealousy**_

Do you know how frustrating it is? To look up at someone you never wanted to?

England had always felt this way. Ever since that fateful day, about a thousand years ago. When some Norseman captured him and just threw him at France's feet, telling the blue eyed nation: "This is for you."

A present. A lackey. He had become a lackey, and he couldn't do anything about it. He fought and struggled and yelled and screamed and clawed and spat and cursed till he collapsed, but nothing changed of course. He was just a powerless, tiny land in an island. Who would have listened to his opinion? As he spent long days alone in the dark screaming for being released, a punishment for his ridiculous rebellious attitude, he slowly realized it. No one was ever going to come to his rescue. He was alone. Even worse, he was… truly powerless.

So, he cried. He cried a lot, cursing his misery, cursing himself for not being able to hold his fate in his own hands like his brothers do, cursing his acceptance. Because he had no other choice but to accept.

When France didn't hear the offending screams anymore from the dark cell anymore, he knew his job was done. Well, at least half of it. Because from now on there would be a lot of work to be done, to educate the wild little rabbit into a lackey worth using.

But, little England still managed to surprise him: upon seeing the taller boy, England rose up and his big green eyes were shining with sheer determination.

"Teach me." He just said, with a composed voice.

France felt a little shocked with his fierce attitude, but at the time he had just thought of it as childish, innocent pride and laughed, as if accepting a challenge. He was wrong.

France hadn't understood that behind those words, those eyes, a very different message was meant to reach him: "Teach me everything you know, and then I swear I will make sure you regret every second of it as I will definitely overthrow you".

France never knew what was coming to him.

But he did do his job well. He taught the little one about philosophy, politics, poetry, mathematics, music, architecture…

England also learned about horse riding, manners and etiquette, economics, holding weapons, how to dress, and fashion and art crafts.

Some subjects and ideas, the boy could never integrate much to the older one's dismay. But to France's satisfaction, he could see most of his teaching getting through the thick-headed boy as decades went by.

Sometimes, they would have debates about anything and nothing, soon turning to full-out banters and yet both of them still enjoyed them. They would have pleasant times during their lessons when they were not criticizing/insulting each other (much) too, like when they just sat quietly on the grass and watched the clouds go wherever. Or played games in the woods, or hunted with a bow and a sword, or told stories, or shared a meal either at France's castle or his.

None could say they got along, but none could say they didn't either. In spite of them, without even realizing it, they had somehow bonded past their mutual contempt. They had chemistry. They had something like a bond.

It was to the point that, three centuries later, they were seen as "brothers" by both of their people as the king of England, vassal of the king of France, possessed almost half of the continental lands. France thought that maybe "he could get used to it after all". And England to start considering taking back his vow.

And then, it happened. The beginning of the end.

The King of England, of French ancestry from his mother side, wanted to claim the crown as he thought it was rightfully his.

The King of France's reaction was immediate: A vassal, adopted and brought up, almost a bastard… thinking he can be a lord and rule over the two kingdoms? This will not be accepted.

And so the Hundred Years War broke out.

Upon hearing that he was never to be acknowledged as a true nation, never to be taken seriously, feeling betrayed and hurt beyond words for what he thought as a cruel and complete rejection.

France never saw him as more than a lackey after all, right? He'd probably planned to get rid of him as soon as he was done with him, huh?

Feeling used and utterly humiliated, England's resentment grew into impossible proportions and turned into a vicious, uncontrollable anger that was to last for the next millennia.

From brothers, France and England parted as arch enemies. With one cursing the other to hell and back, to never have to cross paths ever again. And the other renewing his three-century old vow to take revenge every time God or the devil will give him the chance.

England kept his word of course. He spent all his life watching his neighbor's every move closely with more vicious energy than when he was a child: France had invented something? England would take it and improve it somehow, or make use of it in an other, unexpected, genius way. Just to spite him and prove his superiority.

England has always been very hardworking, and thought that nothing was impossible to achieve or out of reach if you really put your mind into it. It's with that set of mind that he had always confronted France. It was hard, though, sometimes. That he had to admit at least to himself. The sissy bastard was skilled: fantastic, great and gorgeous ideas seemed to pop so naturally in his mind, effortlessly even. And it has always annoyed England to no end. It was so frustrating: like he was an average schoolboy working his arse off to get the better grades, and France the arrogant, lazy, and naturally gifted one who never had to open a book nor to work a quarter as much to get the same grades, if not better. As if mocking his efforts, as if saying "Why bother, little Englishman? No matter how much effort you make, you'll always be second."

These thoughts drove England crazy.

Someone wants to wage war against France? England would join their side with great pleasure, no matter the cost! Who cares about money when he could have a chance to beat France? Watching that delicate face smeared with mud was worth any gold, any means. It was what England lived for: France's fall by his own hand, after taking his everything for himself.

Even through the hardest times, that dream cradled his sleep with hope and comforted him always.


	2. Eternelle insatisfaction aux yeux bleus

**A/N: The French were never jealous of England, but England frustrated them and made them feel like their efforts were never enough. The French have always been 'eternally unsatsified' people, always seeking for the best in everything but never seeming to find it. Thus, the title of this chapter. And when you'll be done reading this, you will understand why this story is titled "Cycle".  
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**_2 -Éternelle insatisfaction aux yeux bleus_**

Do you know how frustrating it is to look up at someone you never expected to?

France would have never guessed at the time that the little dirty, poorly dressed, savage, pagan and sorry excuse of a shadow of a country that was offered to him that day will be his key to hell.

He was happy then: he had just gained his first colony without even having to lift a finger! He had a lackey, a nation to take care of and shape up however the hell he wished! This was proof that he was a powerful nation among the other ones in Europe, and that made him feel proud.

So, he told himself he was going to do a good job by turning that tiny piece of green quartz into a full-fledged emerald that was going to be the shiniest jewel of his crown. For the world to admire and envy.

"You're going to be my lackey now!"

But France soon deflated upon seeing how the English nation felt about that prospect. It was pretty painful to watch really, and embarrassing too. And downright annoying: couldn't England realize how lucky he was to belong to him? The older nation tried to reason him at first, but the boy wouldn't hear anything and just curse him louder.

Then France ran out of patience and ordered for him to be locked in a cell until he behaves.

As days passed and England's outraged screams wouldn't subdue, France began to remember the time when he was a little nation too, under Rome's rule.

Was he as stubborn and rebellious towards Rome as England is towards him right now? No, not quite. True, he didn't like how Rome ignored his heritage left by his predecessor and just did whatever he wanted. But France had still grown fond of the old man, as he taught him so much about everything: arts, culture… The blue-eyed child still remembers the amazement he felt back then, all these beautiful things that he could have never imagined before.

France also remembers, the tender smile Rome had when he declared with innocent confidence: "One day, I'll be greater than you old man! I will be a nation so beautiful and smart and strong that the whole world will look up to. Just you wait!"

Ever since, he had been working hard to grant his own wish. And you could say that he has been successful so far.

But now he was having doubts: how was he ever going to achieve his dream if he couldn't even make himself obeyed by his first colony? Not to mention that he will be the laughing stock of Europe if he failed… Spain would never make him forget, Prussia either. And worse of all, Italy might lose all respect for him! What a terrifying idea!

France got even more anxious, and prayed the Lord often not to abandon him. Still, England's shouts kept on echoing in the castle… to the point that he started to give up on the whole idea. But then, France woke up to silence. Which was strange since his bedroom was not too far from the cells.

He didn't dare to hope at first, and thought that maybe his charge was feeling unwell or sick. And that wouldn't be surprising with all the yelling he had done.

But when he found the boy in the cell, the latter immediately walked up to him. His tiny limbs didn't even shake and his steps were fast and agile, as if he hadn't suffered exhaustion at all.

His cheeks were puffy and red from sobbing, and his eyes red. But there was fire in them and that was shocked France the most. Then he watched the little rabbit balls his tiny fists, looking at him straight in the eyes, and uttered these two words with an uneven voice: "Teach me."

France stared, bewildered. He felt like he was seeing himself from so long ago back in the old days with Rome. So he laughed, and smugly, he answered: "Challenge accepted."

From then on, France took it upon himself to teach the reluctant boy everything he knew. Just like Rome did with him before. It was very hard sometimes, and he lost patience very often, leading to childish fights and more. But even despite these disagreements, none of them wanted to be the first one to give up. So they always ended up meeting for more lessons… and more bickering.

But as the time passed and they learned more about each other, they began to unconsciously lower their guard and open themselves to each other too. They had a better grasp at understanding the other's character, and what they saw wasn't always ugly much to their dismay and surprise. A lot of things irked or infuriated them about one another, as their differences were as far as the two sides of the Channel go. And yet… there was "something". By the time France realized that "something" existed, he hadn't been able to put a name on it, and that bothered him immensely.

Somehow, France found himself used to England's weird, insufferable and somewhat cute personality. He found himself "attached" to the little boy he's had so much difficulty to raise. That too, bothered him because he was not supposed to… was he? England was just meant to be his colony, his lackey and nothing more, right? He didn't know anymore.

But England was growing fine, and France that maybe, just maybe, he could get used to it…?

But it seems that Fate had decided for him.

Upon hearing that England wanted to claim the throne for himself, France felt as if he had been punched hard in the face. Him who has made England a true nation when he was a tiny piece of nothing just three centuries ago, him who put all his hopes and dare he says – trust, by sharing almost everything even his lands with the green eyed nation…

Him, who had done so much, gave so much, and now he was supposed to give everything!? Everything he had worked so hard for, his dreams!? That ungrateful, greedy little brat! He had been fooling him all this time hadn't he? He abused his kindness, betrayed him! France swore he will make him pay the highest price for his arrogance.

The Hundred Years War ended by the beginning of the 16th century according to History books, but the truth is that it never truly ended.

More blood was shed, more lives were sacrificed… and a saint had burnt. Victory tasted like defeat.

France knew he would never forgive England as long as he lived. So he decided that the best thing he had to do, was to ignore him. Indifference was a punishment far worse than hatred, because hatred meant acknowledging one's existence, and France wanted to forget England ever existed.

This is why he told England to never cross paths with him again, this is why he never went to glance at the Channel. He was going to focus on himself exclusively and never make the mistake to grow too attached to a mere colony ever again.

But he should have known that the little English bastard would not leave him alone.

Every time France had a project, of any kind, England came along to ruin it. If France had a brand new navy fleet, England would built his own twice as better… with France's own blueprints! England did the same for language, fashion, architecture, everything! And it was so unnerving! France always had to work his mind full-blast to find new, audacious ideas that even England could never keep up with. Often, it worked. But it was still not enough, as England never gave up and more often than not, he found means to success in the most unexpected, amazing way. More than once, France found himself impressed much to his dismay. It was as if England was mocking him and his efforts, saying "Why bother, Frenchie? Anything you can do I can do better!"

The thought was infuriating him to no end.

This way, France could not totally ignore England no matter how much he wanted to! Not to mentions the wars!

But France would not give up either, two could play this game and France was going to win no matter what.


End file.
